Here I am, hurried up home to clean the litter, feed the cats, take a shower, eat something, and try to come out of head that weighs on me with such heavy sadness and gross unhappiness – two hours later I just start to get in the head space where I could get some work done, some writing and such only to stop because I have to stop due to the time.  There are only so many times you can fall asleep with your eyes open in one day.

I am unhappy with my writing and not being able to have the time to truly get the details in my writing.

I have to end this abruptly.

Declassified Files: A Series Of True Events Being Brought To Light – The Weight Of Life

The Weight of Life

David Wolfe:

Have you ever found yourself wondering how the fucking hell I ever got here?  I found myself unable to recognize myself in the mirror.  The picture I had of myself in my head did not match what I saw when I looked in the mirror.  I was so overweight I could barely stand to look at myself.  Anytime I saw a picture of myself I thought, that is not me.  The difference between who I believed I was in my head, and who I was in physical form was so vast I could never reconcile the two.

However, my body size stayed in the plus size department for more than twenty years.  The self-loathing of not being able to be who I believed I was in my head was ever-present.  It conflicted and created problems on a sub-conscience level.

There are moments in our life from which we are not able to turn back from.  Here I was sitting at my mother’s bedside in the middle of the night watching television with the sound off reading the captions while my whole being stayed on high alert making sure she slept, that she did choke on her own saliva, that her heart didn’t go into A-fib, that she didn’t roll off the bed in confusion, or wake up and hurt herself on the way to the bathroom, or mess herself in her sleep, or a million other things.

People might see it that I had removed myself from the entire world.  It was the only way I knew how to do it.  Once I saw it was possible to still reach my mother before the stroke sent her mind into a dark place of no windows or doors, and every nurse and doctor treated her as a patient with a social security number and me as a daughter unable to grasp the severity and finality of her stroke, I couldn’t help myself because I knew I could do it better.  Without any medical training or help, I knew I could take better care and get her past the days of being hospital bed-ridden, Peg-tube feedings, and not speaking.  And I did.  I fucking did.  For years.

It was also her wish to be at home, so how could I not honor her wishes given what I believed was possible, and what she wanted.  She walked all on her own almost as soon as she got home.  The hospital bed that they ordered for her was sent back nearly as fast as it got there for it was not needed.  She started eating on her own after a month.  Her medications were reduced too.  I bathed and dressed her.  Put make-up on her, dyed and cut her hair, did her nails, dressed in her favorite clothes, put earrings and jewelry on, applied her favorite perfume just as she would have done had her brain not been taken away from her.  I took her to stores so she could see people for she loved people, to see them, to greet them, and to share her love for them, on car rides so she could see the scenery and be entertained, took her for treats, and ice cream, or anything she would eat for something different and fun.  Took her on outings so she could be outdoors, and not trapped in a room in front of a television.

Then almost as if the days started getting longer, she wanted to spend more and more time in bed.  As if the memory of who she was before her stroke, went away.  As if she herself could no longer see the woman she once was.

To say that the time spent being my mother’s caregiver was difficult or hard does not come close.  I usually slept in the same clothes I worked in.  Almost 75% of the time I never even made it into my bed.  My father, who is not equipped to be a caregiver, got up at 7am, then I could go to sleep.  Most days I was up by 11 am.  On occasion, I got to sleep in until 1pm.  I wore a standard uniform of shorts, tank top, and my hair pulled up.  It was the most I could manage.  Being able to take a shower was almost a luxury.  One time while I was in the shower, panic came over me.  I rushed out, grabbed my robe with wet hair and soap still stuck to me, I had to check on my mom.  She was standing at the front door with a stranger.  Needless to say, daily maintenance was hard to manage.

More than just my body, being beyond tired, stressed, and worn out, I felt myself coming to an end.  I felt if I continued in the same way caring for my mother, I was not going to make it.  I felt it might literally kill me.  I thought I might have a heart attack and die.  Plus, the longing I had to be myself again, to do simple things like go to the beach, or a movie, or go on a date, or go on dates with many men, the simple freedom of just walking outside whenever I wanted was so painful it was a crushing weight and burden I could barely work past.

Working towards a plan to make sure every person – not just me – in my family would have their own place as the way our life had been was going to change., I worked toward reconciling the picture I believed I was in my head to the person I saw in the mirror.  I looked at all different diet plans, exercise plans, food plans.  I watched shows about losing weight, make-overs, fashion shows.  I did research on-line about the best and most effective ways to lose weight.

Yet, more than any of that I worked in my own head.  Over the years, I had dieted more times than I could ever remember, and it never worked.  So, I went in my head and worked through why that was.  Why did I try and it didn’t work?  Was it the diet?  Was it me?

I found a trigger point when I realized why I had allowed myself to gain so much weight.  It opened a door allowing myself to work through things about myself.  Which knowing why something happened is imperative to understanding.  I worked through why I could lose weight to a certain point, and then it would stop.  Why I could maintain the weight I was given my diet which was healthy.  I worked through what works best for me.

It is impossible to force a person to lose weight.  Weight is not a matter of simply diet and exercise.  Weight is of an emotional matter.  I did the research.  I did the emotional work.  I planned to make it happen.

I am a person that works best with short-term goals.  So, I chose a diet that would have the most dramatic weight loss.  Losing only a pound or two in a week, I would become discouraged and give up.  However, if I could lose five pounds in a week, then I could lose twenty pounds in a month.  Then, I could lose all the weight I wanted in six months which was about 100 lbs.

I started at 40 days at a time.  A kind of fast for 40 days, another 40 days of a very strict diet.  I was still caring for my mother giving her chocolates so she would take her pills, I would remind myself it is only 40 days.  I thought if I didn’t like who I was after 40 days, then I can reassess.

I kept a picture in my head of what I wanted to look like after losing weight.  I saw myself on a beach, in a bikini, with my back to myself long hair flowing in the wind.  I went to that picture in my mind all the time.

It worked.  I lost weight.  I lost nearly 100 lbs. in six months.  It wasn’t long after that I lost a total of 125 lbs.  I lost weight because I did the work.  I lost weight because I did the emotional work.

It’s been five years since I’ve lost all that weight.  It is not over for me, I am still not happy with the shape of my body.  I have yet to see the day of me in a bikini on a beach.  However, being able to move my body, being able to shop in the x-small section, being able to take up less space on a plane, or around others is a huge relief.  It is so much more than can be expressed in words it is something that must be felt.

Cherith J Gjestland

Declassified Files: A Series Of True Events Being Brought To Light – Black Scrubs

Earlier today I was remembering.

His name was                 and he wore black scrubs.

As many years as I’ve spent in hospitals and nursing homes I can count the men that I’ve witnessed visiting on one hand.  Less than a handful.

I encountered male doctors as a norm.  However, finding men who were visiting or apart – I’m sorry I am so upset about                    today I can barely keep myself from shoving a knife through my heart – I could count the men that I’ve seen and witnessed on less than one hand.  I took note anytime I would see a man at a nursing home, or by a hospital bed because the lack of their presence was astounding to me.

I never once thought that taking care of family or friends or visiting a sick person was a woman’s job.

My mother had just gotten out of surgery where they placed a PEG-tube in her stomach, they were wheeling her to her room and Billy was at the nurses’ station.

He wore all black scrubs which made him stand out from the usual cartoon or pastel scrubs every other nurse wore.  He looked like he was wore comfortable in jeans and cowboy boots than scrubs.

The nurse informed us that my mother would probably not wake up for hours, and it would be best to go home.  My brother left quickly trying to urge me to go home as well since it had already been such a day.  My father left shortly after that too.

I could not.

Something in me said to stay.

So, I sat by her bed with the overhead lights off staring at the TV in silence.  It wasn’t even 20 minutes later my mother shot straight up out of the bed trying to not just crawl but hurl herself out of the bed.  I quickly called for          .  Because my mother could not speak from the stroke nor did she have the mental capability to push the nurses’ button to ask for help.  You had to be there.  She couldn’t communicate it otherwise.

          didn’t understand why she was reacting that way but assured me he would get the answer.

It was a simple fix.

The doctor told him that perhaps the bandaging they had wrapped around her belly was too tight, so he loosened it.

That was it.

She was fine after that and went right back to sleep for hours.  It took me hours to be able to leave after such a terrible occurrence.

All I could think about was if I hadn’t been there she would likely have jumped, fallen, climbed out of the bed trying to get relief and not being able to tell anyone or communicate it in anyway.  She would have seriously hurt herself before anyone noticed there was a problem.

I so appreciated        .  I was so thankful for him and to him.

I hold that picture in my mind of him in the hospital in his black scrubs waiting for the time to put on his jeans and boots and drive off in his truck.

Declassified Files: A Series of True Events Being Brought To Light – Angels Among Us

David Wolfe – understand this is not me talking to David:

Angels Among Us

Driving home in the darkness of night, the hospital growing smaller in the distance, its presence beginning to lessen from my every thought.  The over-bright lights, the smell of over-sterilization, the long, slow, hopelessness yet hopeful pain upon every patient’s face, the emptiness of the un-sat chairs next to each patient’s bed began to ebb – just a little.

My mind was full, I had been praying.  I had been praying by my mother’s bedside.  I had been praying and crying.  Have you ever prayed?  Have you ever prayed for hours without moving?  Have you ever begged God for anything?  Bring my mother back, God.  Please, God.

Have you ever tried to bargain with God?  I haven’t finished learning from her yet, she could still help me if you would only heal her.  Please God, place your healing hands on her and bring her back.  I had to make God understand.  For God, just didn’t understand, or He wouldn’t have let another stroke happen to her.

Sincerity prevailing in my stillness.  I would barely move in the chair next to the hospital bed.  Time didn’t exist any longer, for time becomes abstract in a hospital.  Its purpose of meting out tasks, appointments, and meeting deadlines – punctuality – loses its purpose something far stronger takes control, takes over, and dominates everything.  Illness has no clock.  Sickness does not measure time.

When you are in a hospital either as a patient or a visitor you are at the mercy of the doctors and nurses.  They set the pace, the mood, they create your experience.  However, it may be.

Sometimes I could see it on their face, the arrogance of the know-it-all education that had not yet been humbled with the humility of personal experience before they ever spoke to me.  Other times, some would go out of their way to let me know they understood, that leaving just wasn’t an option for me.

Light, light.  Streetlight, streetlight.  Stoplight.  Street sign.  Street sign.  I just about had it all memorized.  The route to and from the hospital.  My mind so full I wanted to unplug it and throw it as far as I could.  Light.  Light.  Streetlight.  Stop sign.  Signal.  Look left then right.  Gas.  Brake.  Complete disconnect.  Complete Auto-pilot driving.  Left-turn signal, 2, 3, 4, I could almost count how long the light would take to turn without thinking about it.  Right turn, slow, then stop.  Street light.  Street light.

In the middle of nowhere.  In the absence of street lights.  I saw him.  He appeared.  Sure, as I see you.  Sure, as I see myself.  Sure, as I saw the doctors and nurses.  Sure, as I see the world – there he was.  In the middle of nowhere walking down the road going the opposite direction.

What is he doing here?

What?  Why? 

Why is he walking down the street?

There was an unusualness about him that made me take notice of him.

It was dark.

It was nighttime.

Yet, all around him was bright as if he himself was illuminated, as if he was his own flashlight.  It was not directional; the light was not pointed in any direction.  It was feet and feet in front, behind, beside and all around him bright like a color I’ve never seen before.  A most brilliant white of pure whiteness that almost had to be subdued in a blueish cast.  His skin, his hair, were white.  But, not just white, they were brilliant.  He had brilliance all around him.  Diamonds.  He had diamonds in his ears that I could see as I was driving by with faceted clarity.  He was spectacular.  He was magnificent.  I have never before nor since seen anything like him.

But, in that moment of audacious magnificence, I was not overcome, I did not steer off the road, I did not swear or exclaim, I didn’t even utter a sound.  There was a realness about him, a quality that was undeniable, and sublime.

Passing by him, I drove home.  My mind still full, sadness, worry, concern, anger, hurt, and mad at God for not listening.

Yet, why did I see him, who and what was he?  Anything?  Did I dream him up?  Did I make it up?

I mean, I may have been praying myself sick in the hospital, and yes, I do believe in God, been baptized, the whole nine yards but, come on, did I actually think I just saw an Angel?

We always went to church as a family.  I’ve read the bible and memorized bible verses, I’ve been to Sunday School, church camp groups, listened to sermons, sang the hymns, sang in the choir, taken communion, given tithes, prayed for others, donated to charities, prayed for my own salvation, as well as, the salvation of others, but I mean, come on?!  I live in the real world.  Where people hurt each other every day just because they can.

An Angel?!

I am still uncertain as to why I saw him, yet I believe I was meant to see him.

Was it a sign of hope?  Was it a sign at all?  Was it God’s way of saying, I’m here?

I’ve had my doubts over the years as to the authenticity of the man I saw.

Yet, I saw him still the same.

Cherith J Gjestland

Declassified Files: A Series of True Events Being Brought To Light – October 9 2017

October 9, 2017

For David Wolfe only:


I do not wish to write to you in any way since you have brought me to          under false pretenses.  However, I will not now nor will I in the future write anything further to the other computer or          .  It should be my feelings above all else that should be taken into consideration which has yet to be done.  After watching Spartacus, it only cemented the first feelings I had about all of this – you have made me feel nothing more than a sex slave to be passed around from man to man.  You most clearly feel nothing for me or you would not allow other men to use me without my consent or permission.

I feel I must write to make certain that being held under such false pretense,                  , and abuse will not take place for me in the future.  Again, I do not have time to do it all in one day before I have to get to work on time.

I will repeat, I should never be in jeopardy of losing my         – EVER.  No one works harder than me.  No one has to do everything that I do!  I must make it look easy or everyone would not try to copy me.

I will not be going to the movies or ordering take-out tomorrow.  I had to use a vacation day to get rest and sleep which speaks more about your treatment of me and how            abuses me than I could ever say.

I am so appalled and disgusted by you, David.  Again, I wish I had never met you.  You have forever changed my opinion of you.

In the future, I will not be playing a key role, nor will I have my day ordered by my driving route this has no place whatsoever in the               !

You have treated me as a thing instead of the intelligent woman that I am – I cannot forget that.

It is you, David who is afraid of me.  You are afraid to speak to me.  You are afraid to approach me in person and in real, or you would have done so already.  You are the one who closed the door to me when you called me delusional which is of course, why I never approached you or spoke to you whenever I saw you.

Cherith J Gjestland

Declassified Files: A Series of True Events Being Brought To Light – October 11 2017

I had been writing to myself, to others, to persons I know, as well as to persons I’ve only met.  I had been writing to them about events that happened to me, how I feel and felt, etc.  I gave them away believing that they had the power to make something out of it.  However, in doing so I gave away my power.

No one else has the right to tell my story.  If they wanted my story and stories they should have spoken to me without any disguise, proxy, or any other contrivance or barrier.  They should have made a deal, a contract, some form providing NO hidden meanings, or fine print to trip upon, stating clearly and in English terms and payment.  Instead, I had to pay for the privilege of seeing my work given to someone else.  Anger does not cover what I feel.

So, I am taking all the writings I had addressed to someone else and posting them here.  I am taking them from someone else’s hands and placing my work back to me.  If you want it come and get – Do not copy, copy?!

To me it does not matter if this material does not make sense to you, the reader at this point it is more important for me to regain possession of my own work, and words.

Some portions have been left out for my protection.

October 11, 2017

For David Wolfe only:


I despise having to talk to you like this, since I do not wish to speak to you again.  You cannot undo the damage you have done.

  1. The toilets at      : I am only able to use the one toilet as it is the only toilet in the whole building that does not have a              in front of it, therefore it is the only toilet without                 .
  2. I leave the light on in my garage because it is an               .
  3. After having been told off about not walking                  , and for                  , I am no longer rearranging or making any changes whatsoever               . It is dumb and an absolute waste of time.
  4. Again, I repeat there is NO REASON WHATSOEVER THAT I SHOULD EVER BE IN FEAR OF MY        !
  5. The reason I do not walk in front of        is my experience has been they do nothing but invent ways to hurt me, so I have to spend money to fix it.

Do you know I still miss my Thursday and Tuesday?  And all my belongings.  I still believe I should not have given up the care of my mother.  This life you have done for me is just NOT worth living.  I thought my life was on hold before while I was taking care of her, and I would finally be able to start living and have a life, but you have taken that all from me.  If I had gotten that job at         in 2012 I could have started as a sales girl, but worked my way up to management, or a buyer, or a merchandiser.  I would have been able to take care of myself in my own home where I had created my whole life.  If I had gotten the job at           in 2012 I could have worked myself up to trainer or supervisor and been able to take care of myself in my own home.  I could have put money aside so I could have spent time abroad.

All of this has been designed to make me feel as though I am incapable of taking care of myself financially, but you have created that problem so I HAVE NO OTHER CHOICE IN LIFE!!!!!

Do you not understand how painful and hurtful it was to not allow me to actually date men and have a life?!

Do you not understand how hurtful it was to see you ALL the fucking time on your motorcycle?!  You could have let me go and allowed me to date men who found me attractive, so I could have been living a life with love in it.

I remember the game building the railroad – I forget the name of it – where your name was in the credits.

It’s time to really end this fake        and give me back control over my own life.  It is time.

I will be forever grateful for those moments in college, but I cannot go back to them.  I do not see you the same as I did before.  Worse still, I no longer feel you in my heart or being.  I never thought that would go away.  I thought some part of you would remain, however it has been cut out of me.

I cannot tell you how disappointed I am in you that you have allowed people into my home as if you had the right to do so.  Also, I am so disappointed that you allowed them to ruin the taste of my       .  The        , the      , all of it is bad enough but it was personal to take away my           .  Which is what all of this really is – a personal attack.  What my time at          has taught me is that those in charge are afraid, frightened, jealousy, envious, and in all other ways malicious when it comes to my good looks, talent, taste, respect, sexuality, mind, and what was once love for you, David.  It is the only explanation to ruin someone’s looks – envy and jealousy.

I do not understand why I had to                                    .

I remember seeing you and Courtney kissing at the beach.  You two are a perfect couple.  Please leave me alone.

I remember you getting “married” to                       .  I remember you coming into the store as Rene after you unfriended me on facebook.

I so often wonder why you did what you have done.  I’ve thought if you had wanted me to feel more on equal footing with famous people, then your plan has backfired.  If your whole purpose was to humiliate, embarrass, and shame me then your plan succeeded.

I am so tired of talking to you like this.  I am so tired of having to yell at you.  I am so tired of living like this.  I have been more than patient.  Do you not understand that I have gone without a single personal contact, friend, or relationship of any kind for more than 3 ½ years closer to four?  Even field agents have contacts.  And, more importantly they actually agreed to it and signed up for it. I never did nor have.

I hear in my head how this never should have happened.  How there was no cause, or reason, or evidence of any wrong doing, or bad behavior even on my part.  I HEAR THIS               and I know this is not my voice saying this.

Do you know the other night             I was yelled at          for looking at a man and thinking to myself how handsome he looked.  ???!!!  Do you understand how out of control                  that you’ve allowed                 in my own head?!!  What is possibly wrong about thinking another man was attractive.  Even if I was married to the man of my dreams, happily in love, there is nothing wrong with looking at another man and thinking he is good-looking?!  To yell at me for that?!  After all these years of persecution, injustice, humiliation and shame somebody has the nerve to get upset with me IN MY HEAD for seeing beauty in a man?!  It is so disgusting I just want to slit my wrists.  Think about it for just a moment.  Think about it.

Do you know I see                                                                                                                                             – you gotta be kidding me?!

Do you know I saw the look on the face                                  that day at the courthouse, and all I saw was – you mean, this girl?!

Do you have any comprehension of how confusing any of this is?!

I am not yet done, but I am tired.  I need to lie down.  Which is why I know if given the chance I will live the rest of my life in seclusion somehow.  Away from any public life of any kind.

Cherith J Gjestland

Fed Up

I am still so angry about what happened tonight!  I am so tired of people manipulating the situation for their own purpose and never correcting, or fixing their mistakes.

No longer am I picking signs off the road, changing my route because of a sign in the road, or any other such nonsense.

I should come first.  I should determine the way ahead first!

I am sick to death of having to starve for no reason.  I am sick of $1 pizza, chips, and frozen dinner not only because I cannot afford the ingredients, but I cannot afford to keep the ingredients.

Nor, do I believe anything that had any hidden meaning in what I saw tonight.  There is no excuse for these last several years.  NONE!